


Fade

by wajjs



Series: Across The Universe (vld fics) [6]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Dark Shiro (Voltron), Identity Issues, M/M, Mentions of Blood, One Shot, Shangst Week 2017, mentions/descriptions of wounds, pronoun game, shangst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-19 12:26:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11313387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wajjs/pseuds/wajjs
Summary: I would break down at your feetAnd beg forgiveness, plead with youBut I know that it's too lateAnd now there's nothing I can do—For Shangst Week 2017. Day Two:Anger/Depression





	Fade

**Author's Note:**

> This one was so hard to write OTL. I was supposed to go to class today but couldn't because of health issues... I wasn't originally going to finish this one (because of the physical pain I'm in), but yesterday I had already written half of it, so in the end I decided to finish this story so my writing wouldn't go to waste lol. I'm not really proud of it, but eh, I don't have the energy or time to rewrite it all over again.
> 
> The summary comes from a The Cure song titled "Boys Don't Cry"!
> 
> **WARNINGS** for: violence, mentions of blood and mentions/descriptions of wounds. Also, yes, Identity Issues. _and an open ending because why not :-D_

 

 

**FADE**

 

 

   A disaster.  Everything was turning out to be a huge disaster.

   Lance’s breathing was harsh, the sound he made while forcing air into his lungs reverberating across the Galran ship’s hall.  Silence wouldn’t have helped him, anyway, considering his current predicament.  There was no way and no place for him to hide.

   Turning to face the way he came, he lifted his activated bayard, finger ready on the trigger, prepared to shoot if he was left with no other option.  Though he dreaded being left with no other option.  Footsteps echoed off the walls and kept getting closer, sweat was dripping down his neck from the base of his skull, static being the only noise he received from his helmet’s broken comm.

   And then there they were, like whirling arcs of madness, but Lance hadn’t escaped to a narrow hallway for no reason at all.  At least this way the others’ movements would be more restricted, at least this way they’d had to attack one against one—though it did leave him with little room to jump back and dodge.  Well, he would have to make do.  It wasn’t like he could continue running aimlessly with a still bleeding cut on his thigh.

 

°°

 

   It was like every single one of his senses and cognitive capacities had been focused on one feeling.  It was a feeling that encompassed him and swallowed him whole, and Shiro could feel himself losing control of his own body, losing control against a pulsating beast that had been resting deep inside him up until that moment but that had now risen from its slumber.  It was a rage so pure, so raw, that it left him gasping for air, curling away from the darkness within his core.  Noises from the outside world were muffled, as if coming from thousands of miles of distance, like he had been thrown into an iron coffin and buried ten feet under rich, thick soil.

   Like a consciousness borrowed to him, he could faintly detect the movement of his limbs, the moment the weapon part of his mechanical hand activated and connected with tender flesh.  But he could not see.   _ He couldn’t see _ .  The rage of this other was blinding, overpowering, anger stitched so bone deep everything inside and around turned a scorching red.  It burned and marked him, fire thrumming through his veins, through his conscious mind.  Everything was so, so wrong.  But…

   But…

 

   He laughed, cackled even, delighted, blood dripping down his fingertips and onto the floor.  The body in front of him moved and precariously aimed the gun it was holding, shooting once, twice, at the lights on the upper sides of the open room.  They fizzled and exploded, sending sparks and shards everywhere. 

   He was forced to take several steps backwards, watching as the body took that moment as an opportunity to run  _ (no, limp) _ away.  The witch standing besides him snarled, disliking that he had let their prey move out of their sights, and with a burst of her energy the path was clear once more.  The body was not far away, he could still smell the fresh blood sipping from a tantalizing wound, still hear it's laborious breathing and fumbling steps.  The witch moved her hands once more and energy struck him, depriving him of his senses for a moment, and he groaned, his weaponized hand shaking, his heart coming to a painful stop before it started beating again.  Each thud was a scream of wildness, absolute madness, and it made him laugh.  Laugh with glee for finally being free, laugh with the desire to  _ kill _ .

   And  _ kill  _ he would.  First, that lithe body that had scurried away: squeeze the life out of it and maim it; before turning against the loathsome witch, hand going through her chest, tearing skin and muscles and nerves, arteries, veins, organs, bones.  His limb would so easily go through flesh and bones and shatter them, tear them, leaving behind a wonderful, beautiful bloody mess.

   He turned into the hall  _ it  _ had run into, grinning, eyes zeroing on that deliciously terrified face.  He could tell that  _ it  _ didn’t want to hurt him even as  _ it  _ held the gun in a firm grip, this time aiming properly.  Well, all the better for him.

   He races forwards with a rage that could be compared to the ire of a warrior that only wants to destroy.  Like Achilles after the death of his beloved Patroclus, the only thing he could feel, the only thing he could think of, was that energizing flame of anger running from within his core and exploding into exhilarating rivers coursing through his blood.  The body screamed, words barely registering through his thoughts  _ (Shiro! Shiro wake up!) _ before shooting.  He moved out of the blast way easily enough, and in a blink he was leaping towards  _ it _ , activated weapon scratching and breaking the breastplate of the dirtied white armour.

   “Shiro!”  _ It  _ screamed again, butt of his gun connecting to his open side with all the strength  _ it  _ could muster, forcing him to give half a step backwards.  “It’s me, Lance! Please! Please wake up—”

   “You—,” he growled, and this time the anger inside him was truly his.  In a second he moved again, closed fist connecting with a jaw and sending  _ it _ , no,  _ Lance _ , flying backwards. “I am  _ NOT  _ Shiro!”

   But Lance, thrown on the floor, weapon out of reach, wasn’t looking at him no more.  Instead, he was glaring at the witch standing at the end of the hall, vibrant blue eyes harsh and vindictive.

   “What did you do to Shiro?!” Lance demanded to know with a screech, and the waves of ire seeping out of that body made him stop in his tracks abruptly.  There was a voice from within his very core screaming, his connection to reality wavering and weakening, but before the witch could even deem the question important enough to answer he had recovered his grip onto his consciousness.

   “I told you,” words were darkly flowing out of his mouth, and he leaned down to close his non-weaponized hand around a long throat, lifting the body off of the floor before slamming it viciously against the wall.  “I told you I’m not Shiro!!” 

   Over and over he kept knocking Lance’s body against the metal panels, relishing off its cries and struggles before throwing him onto the floor once more.  Just as he was about to start kicking him with all his might, his vision began swirling, black spots taking over, and a presence as strong as himself (if not stronger) rose from inside in all its glory, wanting to claim control over his— _ their _ body.

 

   Though in pain, he noticed Lance reaching for his own weapon and activating it, grip on the gun unsteady and blue eyes shining with determination.  Without thinking twice, he dropped down to his knees and roared as he broke through Lance’s side with his weaponized hand, tearing through tender flesh, the hot squelch of blood sending a satisfying rush throughout his limbs.  It was just as he was about to apply more pressure on the wound to deepen it that he realized that Lance had fired, yes, but he had never been aiming at him.

   Turning his head around quickly, he saw the witch stumble, façade of haughtiness and disdain falling for a moment as one purple hand moved to the other arm, pressing onto the gunshot wound.

   “You!” She seethed, “Finish him already!”  But he could no longer listen, he was losing, losing the battle against whatever was inside of him, against those chains pulling him in and forcing him into a deep restless slumber.

 

°°

 

   Lance gasped and shuddered.  His head fell onto the floor with a dull thud, the helmet serving as protection even though it was partially broken.  Unable to continue holding his gun, he let his arms fall too, absentmindedly noticing how a freezing numbness was taking over him.  It didn’t worry him.  All he wanted to do was close his eyes and sleep.

   Above him Shiro blinked once, twice, and Lance smiled when he noticed that those eyes he had grown to love so much had their usual light back.  He was getting cold.  Thankfully the blood seeping out of his wound was warm on his tattered skin.

   “La..Lance…?” Shiro choked, deactivating his hand and scurrying backwards, losing all color in his handsome face.  The witch had disappeared at some point but neither of them noticed.  Instead, Shiro’s gaze kept traveling from Lance’s deathly pale face to the gaping wound on his side.

   “You are…,” Lance breathed shallowly, a shaky smile still stretching his thin lips, “You are back…”

   “Oh god, Lance!” Shiro cried, moving closer once more, hands uselessly pressing against the younger man’s wound before he started screaming into his comm.  “Guys! Guys, please! We need help! Gu—

 

 

   Shiro’s voice was a nice sound to fall asleep to, Lance thought.


End file.
